Unwelcome Surprises
by Tumbleweed
Summary: Hints of JimAisha, if you look hard enough. And finally, FINALLY concluded with an chapter Eight!
1. An Ominous Piece of Paper

_The Preemptive Author's note: Well, hello! I'd like to start by thanking you for clicking on my particular little story; I, like many writers, like it when folks read (and hopefully review) my work. Furthermore, it should also be noted that this story, like my other Outlaw Star Stories, is set a few years (I haven't bothered to specify just how many, really) after the last episode. Furthermore, as a 'follow up' of sorts to 'Putting on the Ritz', and, to some degree 'Riding Fences', it may benefit a first-time Tumble-reader to take a gander at those stories first to get some of the references I've peppered throughout the story. But enough of this rambling; read on, if you please._

"Nothing good can come of this."

            The note glared up at me from the galley's table like twenty pounds of C-4; supposedly harmless without the proper detonator, but a glaring threat, none the less.  The day had started well enough. I woke up from a particularly pleasant night's sleep, pulled on some pants, and headed for the galley to make myself a pot of much-needed coffee as per my normal routine. I didn't see anyone as I did this, which wasn't surprising; Gene and Mel usually sleep in after a long night of…being Gene and Mel, Suzuka wasn't aboard, and Aisha wasn't exactly an early riser due to her feline tendencies. I thought nothing of this until I spied the far-too-innocent looking piece of paper laid neatly across the Galley's table.

            _Gone to take care of a surprise.__ Will be back soon enough._

_                                                            ~Melfina & Gene_

            Though this wasn't the worst thing I could have seen in the morning (that title is reserved for the sight of waking up staring into the abysmal black barrel of a large-bore shotgun) it was pretty close. The first thing that struck my familiar sense of paranoia into gear was the single word, "surprise". In my experience, any time the word 'surprise' was put into association with Gene Starwind, a great deal of chaos followed in its wake. Whether it was caused by ninjas, pirates, androids, assassins, ninja pirate android assassins, or just plain debt collectors didn't matter- Gene had an innate ability to sniff out and attract ludicrous amounts of trouble, which I was unlucky enough to get caught up in.

            It wasn't an experience that I looked forward to.

            The second unnerving point I realized was the fact that a note had been left in the first place. Gene didn't leave notes- things became much easier for him that way. If he announced where he was going to- or even the fact that he was leaving in the first place, any number of folks (myself included) would have a vital clue in tracking him down for whatever reason cropped up. It wasn't like Gene to leave a note- no matter how terse, before leaving. 

            Of course, one couldn't put it past Melfina to do something so considerate- and the words did appear to be jotted down in a flowing, female script. Then again, Melfina didn't go binge drinking, either. 

            All and all, the setup stank; I wasn't quite sure why, but I resolved at that moment that I'd get to the bottom of this apparent mystery and find out just what trouble Gene was getting himself into. I wasn't sure just what I'd do once I found what was going on, to tell the truth, but I did know one thing for certain.

            I was going to need a gun.

            Aisha caught up to me at the armory. I didn't notice her presence at first- she could be surprisingly stealthy when it was convenient. Her voice cut through the relative silence in akin to a rusted chainsaw tearing through antique furniture. Even still, concern tempered her usually brazen tone.

            "Something wrong, Jim?" 

            "Nothing out of the ordinary."

            "Then what's with the firepower?" She gestured to the array of firearms (in varying states of disassembly) laid out around me in a 360 degree arc.

            "Like I said-" I slid the bolt back into place on my personal sidearm. "-nothing out of the ordinary."

            With the unconscious "Mrowr?" that made whenever surprised, the catgirl peered a little closer at my private arsenal. "So what is it this time? Ninjas? Pirates?  Debt collectors?" 

            "Jim and Melfina left."

            "So?"

            "They left a note."

            "So?"

            "The note said they were going to bring back a surprise."

            "So?"

            "I don't like surprises."

            Aisha shook her head and crossed the room, neatly ignoring the variety of weapons strewn across the floor. "Jim, you're overreacting. Those two lovebirds just went off for some time together- it's not like this ship's the most romantic of places."

            I quirked a brow. "Since when are you such an expert on romance?"

            "I may not be human, Jim, but I'm not blind, either." She grinned. "So why don't you put this firepower away and make the best of the situation? I'm sure the two of us could find something entertaining- I hear that they opened a new all you can eat buffet somewhere near the docks."

            "Aisha, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were asking me out on a date." 

            The expression that crossed Aisha's face at that very moment was, to tell the truth, perfect. Equal parts dismay and confusion, she sputtered out a reply. "WHAT?" With the demeanor of a maddened, recently-soaked cat, the C'tarl C'tarl began ranting. "Why, to make the mere  _suggestion of that sort of thing to a lady of refinement such as myself- not to mention the inherent impossibilities of such a course of action- both socially as well as physically! I do admit, I do appear to be no more than an appropriately gorgeous terran female with pointy ears, but I assure you that my internal biological structure is absolutely incompatible with your fragile __human makeup. Besides, C'tarl C'tarl culture has far superior ways of acquiring a proper mate than blundering around in formal wear." She snorted, then crossed her arms, content that she asserted her superiority over humanity once again._

            "What, you bite your potential boyfriend and drag him back to your tree?" I couldn't help myself. Had anyone besides me said those same words to this particular C'tarl C'tarl, they would've quickly found themselves on the receiving end of a great deal of old-fashioned physical violence. But as my luck would have it, the worst Aisha could do to me in retaliation was glare peevishly and grumble one belligerent word.

            "Humans."

            I chuckled at this reply- one that Aisha fell back on in any number of insignificant arguments.  I suppose that Aisha's presence had raised my spirits from the generally negative mood that one little note put me into. My laughter was contagious, as some old saying goes, eliciting a chuckle from Aisha. "Well-" I admitted, reaching to put a box of bullets away "You're probably right. They're just off doing something romantic."

            Aisha nodded, a grin of triumph splayed across her face. "Of _course I'm right. You really shouldn't worry about Gene anyway- at least he's got Melfina to look after him."_

            "Last time we used that logic he blew up the most expensive hotel in the galaxy."

            "But he also wound up saving us in the process." Aisha remarked, almost reluctantly.

            "Good point. Where'd you say that new restaurant-" I cut off as I noticed what could have possibly been the absolute worst thing I could have seen at that particular moment. An item that proved that, without any shadow of a doubt, foul play was at hand. The blatant obviousness of the clue slapped me in the face, making me wonder just how I hadn't noticed it before. "Damn."

            "What?"

            I glanced up at the baffled C'tarl C'tarl, and held the item in question up to view. Even the notoriously un-subtle Aisha recognized the bad omens inherent in my latest discovery. She gaped for a few moments, expression fallen. "We're not going to be going to that buffet anytime soon, are we?"

            "Nope."

            This said, I set Gene's caster down and set about the ritual of weapon maintenance anew. 


	2. Dining, Discussion, and Destruction

Within the hour, Aisha and I left the Outlaw Star in Gillium's capable hands (or manipulator claws, at least) and hit the road with a fully gassed Ehefrau, a conspicuously heavy duffel bag, and absolutely no idea where to go. 

            "So all we have to work on is this note?"

            "Well, that note and some security video footage Gillium picked up."

            "Video? Of Gene and Melfina? Never pegged you as a voyeur, Jimmy." Aisha winked suggestively. I did my best to ignore it, but tightened my grip on the steering wheel, none the less. "Of them _leaving." I grumbled. "Apparently, they left around 3:00 or so in the morning, which gives them a good six hour lead on us."_

            "Six hours is a long time. Heck, they could've gotten offplanet by now."

            "I know." I sighed. "I'm just hoping that Gene's got more sense than that- he wouldn't want to leave his ship behind, after all. I figure we can start out by checking out as many bars, clubs, and restaurants as we can and hope for the best."

            "Sounds like a pretty farfetched plan."

            "Well, it's the best I can do on such short notice- that is, unless you can track them by scent or something."

            Aisha merely hrmphed in my general direction from her place in the passenger seat. "I'm good- but I'm no miracle worker." She huffed. "Besides, I make it a note to avoid Gene's smell when I can help it."

            Over the course of the next few hours, Aisha didn't have much to worry about the smell of one Gene Starwind- nor did we find any other sign of him either. Out of twenty-two restaurants, thirteen bars, nine dance clubs, four gun stores, two strip joints and a laundromat  (don't ask) there was absolutely no evidence of either the outlaw nor his raven-haired compatriot. Tired, uninspired, and low on gas, Aisha and I found ourselves sitting in a booth of the twenty second restaurant (it was across from the laudromat) planning out the next phase of our makeshift search. I occupied myself in pooling over the unfolded map before me, marking off locations and areas that had already turned up no results. The rapidly growing amount of red ink on the crinkled paper was less than encouraging. 

            Aisha did the only natural thing that a C'tarl C'tarl could do in an eating establishment, and that was to rack up an outrageous dinner tab. Her amassed piles of food loomed precariously over my map, threatening to topple over at the slightest provocation. We achieved a Zen-like state with my planning and her eating within moments, no words crossing between us. The maps showed no answers to Melfina and Gene's whereabouts, and Aisha showed no signs of stopping her display of gluttony.

            That is, until she started talking- not in her usual 'table manners' (that is, in-between exceedingly large mouthfuls of remotely edible material) –she actually took time to swallow her food to speak clearly. 

            "Y'know, they could be at the ship by now."

            "Maybe."

            "So we could just go ahead and go back and meet them and everything would be fine again. Right?"

            I peered up from the charts before me, both intrigued and irritated. "It's not like you to want to LEAVE a restaurant." I gave the C'tarl C'tarl an appraising look. In retaliation, Aisha grinned in a look meant (I assumed) to imply innocence on her part. It failed. "You've run out of money, haven't you?"

            As I expected, her expression fell. "Well, yes- but that's not the ONLY reason."

            "Don't tell me that the food here's bad enough to make you lose your appetite." I chuckled. "I was thinking about getting a donut." 

            Aisha shook her head, unusually sincere. "No Jim, it's just that…I-" she paused, as if searching for the proper words. "We shouldn't be here."

            I nodded. "That's true- we're wasting time. There should be an underground casino right about-"

            Again, Aisha shook her head, ears flattening against her skull in distaste. "That's not what I meant, Jim. I mean that we shouldn't be out here looking in the first place- Gene and Melfina _can take care of themselves, after all. They're not that bad at it, for humans." She leaned back, crossing her arms to nod contentedly. "So, if you'll just foot the bill, we can get back to the ship in time for that new TV show about the bounty-hunting jazz musicians with a talking rat or something."_

            Shaking my head, I replied. "It's not that easy." I found reason to peer down at the charts once again, only to spy Aisha's hand impact gently in the center of the map. Of course, the term 'gently' is in proportion to the strength of the average C'tarl C'tarl- meaning that Aisha didn't shatter the table; she only rattled it enough to cause the precariously-stacked dinnerware to cascade down in an avalanche of crockery. Surprisingly enough, most of it stayed intact, due to the fact that it was little more than cheap plastic.

            "Why not?" Aisha snarled, her tone growing hostile. "Either those two are off rutting like fell-beasts in heat by now, or they're off getting chased around by mad folks with big guns. If it's the first, neither one of us needs to see that sort of thing. If it's the second, neither of us needs to get killed for it."

            "I'm not planning on getting killed." 

            She crossed her arms, glaring at me. "You coulda fooled me! Just because Gene goes off on these damn stupid "let's get shot at!" moneymaking jaunts doesn't mean you have to follow in his footsteps."

            My grip around my mug of coffee tightened. "Like you're one to talk. When it comes to life-threatening escapades, you're just as bad as the rest of us."

            "Well, it's different with me." She huffed.

            "Why's that?" I snapped back, anger rising at her stubbornness. "Just because you can take a beating doesn't mean you're _invincible. No amount of lycanthropy or super strength's gonna save you if somebody gets in a lucky shot. Hell, you're lucky that guy back at the Pinnacle wasn't packing stronger caster shells. Contrary to what you keep on saying, the C'tarl C'tarl sure as hell aren't immortal. I'd know; I've killed one." Spurred on by frustration, the words escaped my lips before my mind could fully register the potential impact that they carried._

            Aisha didn't say a thing; she didn't even make a sound. Ears splayed back in a shocked gesture, she could only stare at me. The silence was a bad sign; in all the years I'd known Aisha, she always made some sort of noise, be it her incessant bragging, the ill-mannered way in which she ate, or just plain snoring when unconscious. After awhile, I learned to tune out such noises when in her presence, just as one learns to ignore the cacophony of noises that come along with the average starship.

            As one could imagine, a silent Aisha wasn't something I expected. Her eyes merely widened as she gaped. I realized at that very moment that I'd never fully explained the strange events surrounding my liberation of a ship full of sex-slaves. Gene and Melfina had just found me unconscious inside of the ship, surrounded by relieved women and dead slavers. Naturally, Gene gave me no end of trouble about it all- so I just decided to clam up about the whole ordeal. It was easier that way.

            At least it was easier up until this point.

            "Jim-" Aisha peered into my eyes. "When did you grow up?"

            Unfortunately, the answer to this question wasn't readily apparent. Ever since I had achieved a sense of self-awareness, I had been forced to fend for myself in some way or another. The question also led to another question that different cultures had mulled over for millennia; just what is it that makes a boy a man? Intelligence? Independence? Having killed something (or someone) important? Losing one's virginity? Beating the tribe elder in single combat? Going off on a drug-induced vision quest to decide on a 'true name'? The hodgepodge of examples that sprung to mind reminded me of stars in the sky; there's some I've been to, some I haven't, and a couple that I've only heard of in passing. (I'm not about to tell you which 'rites' I've been through and which I haven't. A guy's gotta keep his secrets, after all.)

            My introspective look into the realm of personal philosophy was interrupted by a salvo of bullets as they tore through the restaurant. I ducked beneath the thick table, reflexes more than used to this sort of thing. Aisha joined me beneath the makeshift bunker- more likely out of a desire to keep me company than anything else. After all, ducking beneath tables when one's nearly bulletproof already doesn't accomplish much. 

            "What the hell's going on?" Aisha growled, rage kindled the violent interruption.

            "I'd say that we're getting closer-" I fished my handgun from its holster. "-to whatever happened to Gene and Melfina." 

            "Or we just got caught up in a turf war." 

            "…Or that." I was forced to admit.

            "Either way, I'm gonna bust a few heads." The C'tarl C'tarl made to stand up- only stopped once I grabbed ahold of her lengthy braid and yanked down in order to make her stay put. Naturally, she yowled in surprise at the less-than-pleasant sensation.

            "Now what was THAT for?"

            "I'm not about to let you charge off without a plan or something."

            "Why not?"

            "Because I'm not bulletproof, remember?"

            "So you're planning on using me as a shield?"

            "More of a distraction, really."

            "I'm flattered." Aisha muttered, deadpan.

            "Besides," I smirked. "You were headed in the wrong direction. They're over that way." I jerked a thumb in the general direction that the gunfire came from. 

            "Whatever. I'll meet you at the car, alright?"      

            I nodded, and the two of us sprang to action, Aisha springing towards the sound of gunfire while I dove away. I kept my head low for obvious reasons, upturning tables and chairs as makeshift barriers whenever possible. Lead flew, raining tearing the décor of the restaurant to bits- thankfully, that's all they did, as the bullets never came close to hitting me. (At least, not close enough for me to notice.) Weaving from bit of cover to bit of cover, it was a simple matter to get to a window to the street outside. Avoiding the burst of automatic weapon fire that followed wasn't nearly as easy. There were shooters outside, covering the exits.

            This tactical layout let me know that I was dealing with professionals; though the sight of a man in a dark suit with an assault rifle lent me a good idea of the situation as well. Gangers don't wear suits. Gangers don't pack such high-grade weaponry, either. There are times when I really do despise my knowledge about this sort of thing; this was one of those times. 

            I dove out from behind the bullet-riddled mailbox that served as my cover, again running in a hunched-over crouch. It wasn't the most comfortable way to run- or the most elegant. However, it suited my purpose of presenting the smallest target possible quite well, as I made it to Ehefrau in a single piece. I snapped off a few wild shots as I ran, managing to cause one rifle-wielding suit to crumple to the ground. I didn't have any time to check if he was dead- nor any time to reflect on the consequences of doing so. I was more concerned with getting the hell out of the immediate area. Bullets spanged off of the car's metal siding, each metallic sound steadily increasing my mental estimates of repair costs. 

            Moments after I spurred the car's motor into motion, Aisha came crashing through the diner's door (literally, as she inadvertently tore it from its hinges) bounding across the parking lot to vault into the passenger seat beside me, with a wince. "Hit it!" She screeched; an order I was more than happy to comply to. 

            Gunning the accelerator, we tear-assed out of the parking lot as fast as Ehefrau's motor could take us (which, considering the amount of work I've done to her engine, was a fairly considerable speed). As we sped along, the scent of singed fur hit my nostrils, prompting me to glance over at Aisha. 

            Thankfully, she smelled worse than she actually looked- there was only a singed streak across the left side of her ribcage, revealing tanned skin where a small chunk of her outfit had been burnt away. I furrowed my brow at the wound, recognizing the effect.

            "A caster?"

            "Yeah." Aisha groaned, rubbing at her side. "Just winged me, though, I'll be-" Her consoling words, however, quickly erupted into a tone of dismay. "KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!" 

            "Huh?" I shot back- only to remember that I was still driving. A quick jerk of the wheel prevented fruit-cart induced disaster, though the squealing of tires against the hard asphalt was hardly a pleasing sound to hear.

            Then again, neither was the burst of gunfire that sprung up behind us. I ducked as low as I could duck while still peering over Ehefrau's dashboard, trying to present as small a target as possible. A brief glance at the rear-view mirror confirmed my fears, as I spotted a black sedan speeding along after us, complete with a black-suited thug with an assault rifle poking out of the sunroof. Two more identical vehicles pulled up nearby, complete with their own respective gunners.

            "They're following us!" Aisha snapped, turning about in her seat to watch the pursuers. 

            "I noticed!" 

            "Well, lose 'em!"

            "How?" 

            "I don't know!" 

            Beneath my breath, I swore; profusely. The chase in and of itself was bad enough; but the fact that there was more than one vehicle chasing us was exponentially worse; multiple cars implied that there was a large force after us- and larger forces obviously are harder to go up against. Such a plentitude of targets is rather hard on one's ammunition supply- not to mention the fact that larger groups have a good chance of being well-organized; and subsequently prone to the use of tactics you're not ready for.

            This train of thought was justified as another trio of gleaming black cars swerved into view- in front of us, guns blazing. "Aisha!" I snapped, turning the car to the side. Trees, signs, buildings, and the occasional pedestrian whizzed by, the short time in which they became blurred attributing to our reckless velocity.

A thought struck me as Ehefrau slid around a particularly tight turn. "The duffel bag- Grab something explosive!" This referred, of course, to the small arsenal I had forethought to bring when I first stumbled across that damned note. I didn't bother listening for Aisha's reply, as a cacophony of gunfire, strained engines, and squealing tires occupied my sense of hearing. Even in the conflicting, ugly sounds, there was a sort of raw pattern, as if it was all no more than some twisted composer's work. One could call it "Fugue at 50 Kilometers per Hour, with Automatic Weapons". Briefly, I wondered if I should have taken up a career as an Artist, as opposed to an Outlaw, only to dismiss the thought once I realized that the latter profession was far more socially acceptable. The near-deafening sound of a nearby explosion served as a short, though memorable, crescendo to the symphony of mayhem.  

"Aha! Got-" Aisha's triumphant cry was interrupted by no less than a bone-jarring force shaking Ehefrau, sending us careening off of the road. I struggled with the wheel for control, desperately attempting to prevent a crash- but an inconveniently placed warehouse quickly made any such maneuvers at that point.

 A white burst of an airbag plumed up before me for a single instant, then everything went black as I was forcefully jarred into a state of non-consciousness. 


	3. Prelude to a Dinner

There are worse places to wake up than in the arms of a C'tarl C'tarl. 

Of course, this statement is far from objective on my part. After all, there was, as one might expect, a large amount of circumstantial factors that led to my enjoyment of the sensation. The first of which being, of course, the knowledge that I was still alive- or at least that the afterlife was so similar to the mundane world that the difference wasn't readily apparent. Of course, the nature of the relationship between myself and the C'tarl C'tarl in question is also a key factor. This isn't anything sexual, mind you. It's just a profoundly reassuring feeling to know that the being with its arms curled around you is more than capable of tearing anything remotely threatening to bits. One might think that such knowledge might just be disconcerting, with the threat of the alien strength ever-present, but strangely enough, it's not. At least, it wasn't in that particular situation. I've been forced to trust Aisha with my life on more than a few occasions, and it's this trust that lets me know that she wouldn't do a thing to hurt me. 

Allowing the warm feeling to pass over my body, I stretched, gently removing myself from Aisha's arms in order to climb off of the edge of the canopy bed.

It was the realization that I had rolled out of a canopy bed that made me suspicious. Suspicion grew into downright fear as I recalled my last coherent memory before blacking out; namely, crashing into an irritatingly concrete building. The room I was in was decidedly not a hospital; nor like anything on the Outlaw Star. 

White dominated most of the room: white wallpaper, white carpeting, white furniture. It was an unnatural, irritating white color, devoid of any stain, speck, or smudge that dared to mar the expanses of ivory material. To a scruffy Outlaw such as myself, there's no color that's more disturbing. All things considered, there was something about the artificially white suite that just screamed 'holding cell'. A quick try at the door verified this- the door was firmly locked and bolted from the outside- and judging from its solid nature, it would even slow Aisha down. 

It was an unusually nice place to be kept, but the fact that I had no idea just why I was there 

Glancing down, I found myself to be thankfully clothed, and more or less in one piece. Snapping my attention to the bed, I saw that Aisha was in the same state, albeit unconscious. This knowledge put one particularly strange scenario out of the question, thankfully enough. Of course, if that particular scenario, in some unlikely turn of events, _did_ play out, I doubt I'd make it through in one piece.  

Shaking my head to dispel these unproductive thoughts, I quickly moved to shake Aisha awake, eliciting only a "Mrrrrph" from the slumbering woman. Frowning, I opted to try the action again. "Rrrhgh."

And again. "Grshrsmn"

Somehow, I hoped that the third time would be the charm. "Ssshrmpgh."

Apparently not.

With this done, I set about taking inventory. My gun was missing; as was my wallet. Not surprising. However, other than these two crucial items, the items in my pockets were more or less intact; a haphazard collection of small tools, spare change, the occasional candy bar…and most importantly, my pocket computer. All and all, it wasn't a bad start; granted, in such a strange situation, I would've preferred to get my hands on some sort of lead-slinging device, but that was probably just a force of habit on my part. After all, the nigh-invincible C'tarl C'tarl on my side was worth an entire arsenal of firepower.

When she was awake, at least. As if to drive home this point, Aisha's slumbering form rolled over and let slip a thunderous snore. 

It seemed that I was on my own.

Of course, given my surroundings, things didn't seem to be that terribly bad; while unnaturally white, all of the furniture in the room looked to be of fine enough quality; fine enough that it was of the sort of thing that most Outlaw-types weren't supposed to see in their lifetimes. Then again, there was the fact that I _had seen furniture of this quality before; that is, within the confines of The Pinnacle, the most ludicrously overpriced hotel in the known galaxy. Granted, I barely stayed a night in the place- a night in which some of my friends made it a point to blow up the building's foundation, but that wasn't relevant at the time. _

Or was it?

Glancing down to the carpet (white, of course), I carefully prodded at it with my foot. This done, I took a few hesitant steps in one direction, stopped, and backtracked the way I came. A few more moments of experimentation like this confirmed the idea that sprung into my mind moments earlier. 

The floor wasn't level.

It was only slanted by a small amount- twenty degrees, at most. Even still, the off-kilter surface was surprising, especially given the otherwise flawless appearance of the rest of the suite. Surveying the room again, I found that the entire suite seemed to be listing to the side at the same acute angle- it's just that cunningly placed blocks here and there prevented any sort of gravity-induced catastrophe. 

I didn't' have nearly enough time to consider the implications of this, however, as the door to the chamber soon opened, revealing a pair of machine-gun toting men in black suits. Thankfully, they weren't pointing the guns at me. Yet.

"You're awake. Good. Come with us."

In no position to argue, I stepped into the hallway. The hallway was just as uneven as the room itself, perhaps even more so. The two gunmen prodded me along with the barrels of their guns (slick looking automatics, no less) prompting me down the hall. Glancing backward, I caught a glimpse of the door shutting and bolting itself of its own volition. Fancy.

I've been (un)fortunate enough to have been taken prisoner by the best of them, and from my experience, it seemed to me that my current captors knew what they were doing. The unpleasant and far too familiar feeling of getting the muzzle of an automatic weapon shoved into one's ribs kept me going. Thankfully, we didn't walk far; the hallway ended in a large pair of heavy, iron banded wooden doors. Swank.

While one of the guards kept his gun trained on me, the other opened the door with no small degree of flair, gesturing for us to go inside. The gesture would have seemed almost natural if it weren't for that submachine gun hanging from his shoulder. The doorway led into a richly furbished dining room, its contents immediately prompting salivation on my part.

As Aisha has often told me, human olfactory organs are weak, practically useless. Even still, with my mere human nose, I found the scents wafting from the dining room absolutely intoxicating. Dishes and foods of every variety lay on the long mahogany table, the steam rising from them verifying their freshness. Of course, it wasn't just the food that attracted my attention; the silverware glinted up from the place settings, nicely contrasting with the gold inlay of the plates. Not only did the establishment bear the scent of a good food, it also reeked of _money_. Being a proper Outlaw, of course, such a scent immediately gained my full and absolute attention; I almost forgot about the guns at my back.

Almost. 

A man sat at the head of the table, his facial features obscured by shadow; the dining room had very inadequate lighting. "Ah, Mister Hawking- we've been expecting you. Please. Sit." 

I did. 

"You must be wondering just why you're here, of course." The man at the head of the table leaned forward, revealing a pudgy, vaguely Asian looking face. A shiny scar adorned the side of his face; some sort of burn. As a matter of fact, it looked remarkably like something one would receive from a caster. "By all rights, I should simply kill you." Dread realization dawned on me as the elements added up: the posh establishment I was in would have to be The Pinnacle; an establishment that I, along with the rest of the crew, collectively shot up a few months earlier. Gene even managed to set off a few tons of ordinance in the basement, rocking the foundation, explaining the tilt. This meant that the man at the head of the table could only be one man: Mr. Kao, arms manufacturer and general villain. I thought that Gene had blown him up when we were last at the Pinnacle; I was wrong.

The realization on my face must have shown, as Mr. Kao chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. As a matter of fact, my niece has been rather anxious to see you for quite some time now." With a wave of the hand, Mr. Kao brought the lights in the room up to full, revealing an utterly striking blonde woman in a white dress, grayish-blue eyes locked intently on yours truly.

Recognition dawned on me immediately, quickly leading into a feeling of intense shock. Of all the people to run into in this particular situation, in this particular establishment, she was absolutely the last woman I'd imagine to come across. 

"Helen?"

_Author's note: Wanna know who Mr. Kao is? Or what's the deal with Helen? I strongly suggest reading my other Outlaw Star works "Riding Fences" and "Puttin' on the Ritz" in order to find out this important information. Thanks for reading!_


	4. Indecent Proposals

At that very moment, I was struck with two conflicting instincts. The first was a standard 'fight or flight' reaction, urging me to get the hell out of the hotel- or, barring that, to make sure that Mr. Kao got blown up again. Unfortunately, with the great deal of firepower in the hands of the guards, and my own lack of armament, neither one of these options were available.

The second impulse was centered on Helen; the less that can be said about that it, the better. I'm sure you can figure out the gist of it on your own. Suffice it to say, Helen was quite an attractive girl- one that I had seen in the nude before, no less. Thankfully, this wasn't the case in this particular situation, as I doubt that I would've been able to think clearly if she was. As the situation was, I couldn't think too clearly anyway, befuddled as I was by shock. Thankfully, Helen broke the uncomfortable silence hanging over the dining room like a shroud.

"Hi Jim."

The dam of disbelief broken, a barrage of words issued forth from my mouth, unleashing a torrent of questions. "What the hell are you doing here? You shouldn't be here- Kao's a madman! Wait, no- You're related to Kao? Why didn't you _tell_ me that earlier? What the _hell_ are you doing here? And what am I doing here?" I paused, sucking in breath as to provide oxygenated ammunition for my next verbal salvo, only to be cut short by a wave of the hand by Kao.

"It's simple, Mister Hawking. Helen wants to get married."

"Married? Then why the hell am-" That's when it hit me. Hard. "…Damn."

To put it simply, at that moment, I'm fairly certain that my brain broke. I can't clearly remember the time period immediately after that statement, as I was completely stupefied by the revelation. There I was, inside a slanted hotel that I shot my way out of months earlier, held at gunpoint by a man I thought that Gene blew up in the same incident, being told that I was supposed to marry a damsel who I saved from an unpleasant fate as a sex-slave some months earlier. 

Somehow, during my state of nigh-unconsciousness, someone had placed a glass of a strong-smelling amber colored liquid in my right hand. Booze. I drank, draining the entire glass in a grateful gulp. Somewhere in the back of my mind, enough cognitive processes kicked back into gear to note I just slammed down some of the best damned whiskey that I had ever tasted.

Another part of my brain told me that I shouldn't have been drinking in such a dire situation.

I didn't listen to either. I set the glass down, only for one of the suits (with his gun neatly strapped across his back) to pour me another drink, which I promptly drained in a similar fashion to the first. For a third time, the glass was filled- but I chose not to drink it down in a single gulp. I planned to just sip at it, that's all. The strength of the liquor kicked my thoughts back into gear. Throat raspy from the scalding liquid, I managed one word.

"…Pardon?"

"It's simple. Helen wishes to marry you." 

So much for glass number three. I shot a questioning glance to Helen, who meekly nodded in a far-too-girlish manner for my liking. It was entirely out of place in the situation. 

Fingers tightening around my glass, I glanced around, warily. Too late, I realized that the liquor I slammed down moments ago could've been drugged, poisoned, or laced with any number of nasty compounds. With a sigh, I consigned myself to such a fate (if I had indeed been poisoned) and fell back on one of the few weapons left in my arsenal: sarcasm. "You know, I'm not exactly sure how different things are in this neck of the galaxy, but it's usually not proper custom to attempt to kill the potential groom before you drag his unconscious body back to your place before you propose."

            "I never thought you'd be such a stickler for tradition, Mister Hawking."

            "You'd be surprised."

            "Allow me to explain." Kao sighed, swishing his own drink in his glass as he gestured. "I owe you, Mister Hawking, for saving the life of my niece, Helen. A rival businessman- A C'tarl C'tarl, to be exact, kidnapped her in order to gain some leverage over my holdings. I wasn't sure what to do: Helen is, sadly, most of the family I have left these days. But, before I was forced to make any fateful decisions, you so graciously waltzed in and single handedly killed an entire ship full of slavers- including my cattish rival. An impressive task, indeed. Of course, such dashing, heroic actions will have certain…effects on a girl, won't they, Helen?"

            Helen nodded, still smiling demurely at me. Somehow, she didn't seem to notice the men with guns posted in each corner. Go figure. "Jim, ever since you saved me from those evil men, I've been wanting to…thank you…but I never got the chance." Which was entirely true: I was comatose for a good amount of time after that particular escapade; fighting a C'tarl C'tarl in single combat will do that to a guy. "And, well…now that my Uncle's gotten you here…I can!" she giggled- actually giggled –as she went on. "I know you've had a hard life, Jim: you _are_ an Outlaw and all that. But now, you don't have to worry about that anymore! Once we get married, you won't have to worry about being poor and getting shot at and rescuing damsels! We'll settle down on a nice resort world and have a bunch of children and you'll never, ever, ever have to worry about all that nasty Outlaw stuff again! It's the best way to thank you for all you've done for me, after all." she let out a contented sigh as she went into her domestic fantasy, firmly convinced in the fact that it'd pan out.

            I had to talk. I had to talk her out of this scheme. "Don't you think we're taking things a little…fast? I mean, we're both young, and we've barely known each other for very long. And…I'm not you're type! Too Scruffy! Too unsophisticated! Too…Short!" 

            "Oh, my Uncle Kao told me you'd say that. But that's okay! He told me that I'd have to be quick about marrying you, before you could wind up flying to another planet and get yourself killed or something. And of _course you're scared about it right now…but once it's all over and done with, I know you'll learn to appreciate it. And now that we've found you, we'll have the ceremony tomorrow! …Once we get you cleaned up, that is." She giggled again; a pleasant sound, but hardly comforting in this situation. "You'll just look _darling_ in a tuxedo. I know it."_

            From his place at the head of the table, Kao smiled. It was hardly a pleasant expression; instead, his grin bore all the semblance of a victorious predator having cornered its helpless prey. It's at that moment that I really realized what Kao's motives were hardly benevolent on his part. He could've cared less about the feelings of Helen, misguided as they were. 

            I began to wish that Mr. Kao had just taken me here to detail some evil plot, or even an interrogation session. I'm _used_ to that sort of thing. I sipped at my whiskey to knock a little sense back into myself, concentrating on the burning sensation as it made its way down my throat. I wanted to run, to escape, to go back to the standard, relatively carefree life of an Outlaw; the kind of life where one has to worry about people trying to shoot at you, not the world of diapers and PTA meetings. 

Settling down is possibly the worst thing that could happen to a proper Outlaw. Outlaws often don't talk about the subject; it's just that terrifying. If an Outlaw meets his end by getting lost in space, or by getting shot full of holes by a crew of pirates, one can expect that he'll be properly memorialized by his associates in a night or three of drinking to his memory. But to merely submit to a mundane life of generic domestic-ness? It's unheard of. (This isn't to say that an Outlaw can't get married; it's just that there is usually some sort of extenuating circumstance to justify it; and even then, it's better when both parties are Outlaws themselves. Just balances out better.)

            In less then twenty four hours, Mr. Kao planned to effectively erase any and all notoriety of Jim Hawking the Outlaw, transforming him into Jim Hawking, the Family Man.

            Never had a more fiendish plan ever been hatched in the realm of revenge. And at that very moment, nothing could be done about it. Well, almost nothing.

            "…Could I have another drink?"


	5. Spilling the Beans

They left me the bottle.

Obviously, when matters of matrimony are seriously thrown about, one gets to thinking. Thinking, and planning. There's any number of things that require planning: church reservations, cakes, formal wear, invitations, a reception party, proper amounts of food and alcohol for the reception, and a variety of other matters to worry about. 

Kao and Helen already had these matters covered, it would seem. Along with the scotch (Kao called it an "Engagement Present") They left me an intimidating thick binder full of catalogues, checklists, and other paperwork that covered every factor of the wedding in great detail. All this thorough planning left only one vital element up to me.

A means of escape. 

So I sat at the tilted white room's tilted white table and pooled over schedules, agendas, and guest lists, searching for that one vital clue that would provide me with a way to get the hell out of the situation. Unfortunately, the planning was foolproof; or it at least it was close enough that no obvious flaws were apparent for me to exploit. 

The process of escape planning was so engrossing that I didn't even notice when she crept up behind me.

"Jim, what the hell is going on?" Aisha's irate screech took me entirely by surprise, startling me out of my chair and onto the hard white floor. The C'tarl C'tarl, true to her nature, either didn't notice or care about this undignified reaction. Aisha stood above me, arms crossed, taking in the room. "White walls, white floor, white sheets, white furniture…" her eyes seized upon the most colorful object in the room. "And good whiskey. Jim, are we dead?" As if to test her theory, she crouched down and poked me, experimentally. 

Having verified my substantiality, she continued. "Because this kind of afterlife may be fine and dandy for simplistic humans, but when a C'tarl C'tarl dies (a fairly rare occasion, given our inherently immortal nature) they're to be released nude into the great paradise realm, where they shall feast with their ancestors until-"

Aisha continued with her crash course in C'tarl C'tarl theology- though I found myself momentarily distracted by the image of a naked Aisha at some cosmic buffet. It's a surprisingly entertaining thought, to tell the truth. Lucky for me, telepathy was never a trait of the C'tarl C'tarl. 

"We're not dead." I slipped the answer in as Aisha paused for breath. 

"Then where the hell are we?"

"The Pinnacle."

"The Pinnacle? Didn't Gene blow this place up?"

"…A little."

"Then why the hell are we here?" 

With a sigh (and another swig from the bottle) I told her. 

Aisha took the news far better than I expected. "WHAT?!?!" she demanded, seizing me by the collar of my jacket, dragging me upwards to peer directly into my eyes, leaving my feet dangling helplessly several inches above the floor. 

"Er…Mr. Kao wants me to marry his niece."

"Oh Jim." The catgirl's expression softened, her ears drooping. Something twisted about in my stomach as a wave of guilt washed over me for having to tell Aisha such ground-shattering news. Of all the crew of the Outlaw Star, I was obviously her favorite human: the one she asked about terran culture, the one she looked over as best she could, the one who actually managed to (sometimes) understand her. Gazing into her eyes at that close distance, I could only imagine the sort of emotional anguish that must've wracked her at that very moment.

"This is _WONDERFUL!" She exclaimed, abruptly dropping me to the floor again._

"What?" I managed, shocked. "…You're happy about this?" It seemed as if I would have to rethink the state of the relationship between Aisha and me.

"Of course I am!" Her eyes gleamed with ambition. "I mean, I was beginning to worry about you. You're always elbow-deep in starship parts or busy getting yourself shot at; no time to look for a proper mate. Well…except for that one time with the ship full of slavers- but you were comatose for most of that, so it doesn't count. A pity, too- that gold-headed one seemed to like you." Aisha scratched at her head, thinking. "What was her name?" 

"…Helen." By this time, I got back to my feet, as if to gather about me some semblance of dignity. 

"That's it!" Aisha smirked. "She looked pretty healthy to me; under the circumstances, at least. Bet she had some good genes. I have to wonder what she's up to these days."

Irony. Bitter, sour irony. "…She's Kao's niece."

"The one you're marrying?"

"Yeah."

"You lucky dog!" Aisha slapped me on the back, hard. The gesture of camaraderie, well-intentioned as it was, still had the gargantuan strength of the C'tarl C'tarl behind it, and I was sent downward a third time. And for a third time, Aisha didn't care. "Good hair (for a human, anyway) and _rich_ too!"

"Has it ever occurred to you," Glaring at my overenthusiastic companion, I staggered upwards. "That I don't _want to get married?"_

"Mwrowr?" Aisha tilted her head at me, obviously perplexed. "Why not?"

"Maybe it's because I barely even know this girl?" 

"So? You'll have plenty of time to get to know each other!"

"Well…how about the fact that her uncle tried to kill the both of us and take over the arms manufacturing industry?"

"As I seem to recall, a great many of your friends- myself included –have started off trying to kill you. Or at least Gene. Besides, this reminds me of an ancient C'tarl C'tarl legend! There were these two feuding families, but they had these teenaged children of about the same age, a boy and a girl…"

"Lemme guess- the two of them fell in love despite the protests of their folks?"

"Actually, no. There was an arranged marriage as a sign of peace between the families."

"So they lived happily ever after?"

"Actually, the couple hated each other so much that they wound up strangling each other to death. But not before quite a few business deals were made!" Aisha grinned toothily in my direction.

"…Nice to know you're a romantic."

"What's romance got to do with it? This is marriage! I mean, once you're hitched to this girl, you'll be _rich! You won't have to worry about pirates and debt collectors and taxes and all that anymore! Isn't that what you've always wanted?"_

"Well, kinda." I admitted. "…But it's just not the same!"

"Why not?" 

"Because…" I searched for the proper way to explain it. I was, after all, an Outlaw. Outlaws were supposed to be free-spirits, roaming the ether as they pleased in their particular oh-so-dashing idiom. "Arranged Marriage" just wasn't in a proper Outlaw's vocabulary. An Outlaw's life was supposed to be dotted with a long list of momentary, flickering bursts of passion or lust- at least it should've been if Gene's career was any indication. How could I expect Aisha to understand this sentiment? How could I expect her to understand my conflicted and alien (to her, at the least) emotions on the matter? No easy methods of explanation came to mind. 

"Because…what?" Aisha noticed my pause. 

"Because I-" words bubbled out, uncalled for; I'm lucky that a convenient distraction appeared at that particular moment, in the form of the suited gunmen at the door.

"Mr. Hawking?" The lead one asked "Miss Helen would like to see you now." Aisha gave me a none-too-subtle wink and a shove towards the door, and so I was off. Out of the frying pan…


	6. Into the Parlor

…And into the boudoir. 

The guards showed me into the room, their politeness almost making one forget about the automatic weapons slung across their bodies.

Almost. 

Automatically, I surveyed the room for any number of things; threats, escape routes, weapons, or expensive items worth 'liberating'. I didn't find much of the first three, but as for the fourth, the room had it in spades. 

Exquisitely polished hardwood furniture adorned the room, occasionally gilded with gold inlay or chips of dragonite. A massive bookshelf dominated one side of the room, its shelves stuffed with a variety of leather-bound books. A grey marble fireplace blazed merrily on the other side of the room, filling the chamber with a warm flickering glow. A large, four poster bed took up a good deal of space, draped with sheer fabrics that likely cost more than the average car. The mattress was broad, allowing quite a bit of room for-

I shook my head, taking my attention away from the bed, instead fixing my eyes on the balcony. Now I was getting somewhere! Never had the scent of fresh air been so welcome to my nostrils. 

I stepped out onto the balcony, first peering up into the starry night sky- seemed that I'd been in custody for quite awhile. I then looked down, over the edge, and blanched. I was very, very, very high up- at least 30 stories, by my estimate. Far too high for me to make a rope of sheets and blankets…if I could get my hands on a grav-chute, or a helicopter, on the other hand…

"Jim, is that you?" A voice sounded from behind me. Helen's voice.

"Er, yes?" I revealed my location: a mistake. 

Helen came from around the corner and out onto the balcony, looking absolutely breathtaking (literally, as I was rather oxygen-deprived at that very moment). Like the first time we met, she wore white; though instead of a dirty and baggy jumpsuit, she wore a…to this day, I'm not quite what she was wearing. It was a slinky, form-fitting garment; a combination of white silk in lace that seemed to reveal more than conceal. Very impractical. Firelight reflected off of her hair, only adding to the striking vision. 

She smiled earnestly at me, quickly sashaying (the only type of movement capable in such a garment) across the balcony, remaining silent. We stood face to face for a few moments, her with nothing to say, and me without the ability to speak. 

Helen broke the pause, seizing me about the shoulders, dipping me low, and planted a urgent and sloppy sort of kiss on my unsuspecting mouth. Paralyzed by the sensation, I could only ride the current of this situation. To tell the truth, it wasn't entirely unenjoyable- but that's beside the point. 

Finally, she broke the embrace, releasing me from her grip. System still reeling from the shock, my body only began to register the outside world again once gravity pulled it into firm contact with the stone floor. This penchant of mine for falling down in the presence of women was rapidly growing tiresome. 

"I've been wanting to do that all day." Helen murmured, satisfaction dripping from her tone. 

Feeling my face grow hot, I pulled myself up on shaky knees. At that very moment, I had absolutely no idea what to do; part of me wanted to get the hell out of there, while another part of me wanted nothing more to go for a 'second round' with Helen. Or a third. Or fourth. "Is that all you brought me here for?" I managed. 

"Of course not, silly!" Helen giggled. "It's just that we haven't had much time to talk…in private." She took my hand and led me back into her bedchamber, seating me down on the edge of the bed. Fearing the worst, I made it a note to start talking while I still had the mind to do so. "Look, Helen, don't you think we're taking things a little bit…fast? I mean, we're young! And, well, we just met that one time, and that was under extenuating circumstances, and when threatened with death, people can get pretty emotionally stupid about-" 

Helen silenced me with a dainty finger placed upon my formerly babbling lips, and smiled. "I'm not stupid, Jim." She cooed, sweetly. "And I'm not blind, either. And I know a good man when I see one." She plopped down on the bed next to me, having produced a remote from, well…somewhere. Helen pointed the device at the bookshelf and tapped a series of buttons, causing several of the shelves to slide into the wall, revealing an elaborate computer system. Important looking financial information scrolled across the monitor- that is, until Helen pushed down on another button. Instantaneously, more numbers and figures scrolled across the screen- though this time, the statistics were easily recognizable. 

"Hey!" I turned on the lovely figure sitting next to me. "That's my outfit's fiscal reports!"

"I know." Helen smirked. I turned my attention back to the screen, merely gaping as numerous newspaper clippings, wanted posters, and the occasional receipt scrolled over the screen, all having to deal with Starwind and Hawking Enterprises in some way or another. Someone had been keeping tabs on me.

That particular someone noted my shocked state, and giggled. "Oh come on, Jimmy." She teased. "I'm more than just a pretty face, you know. Now, if you would stop staring at my cleavage" I wasn't. Really. "I'll explain." 

"You see, ever since we met on that ass-backwards little farm planet, you've intrigued me; so I just opted to do a little research. Seems you've had quite the career, Jim; even for an outlaw. However, for all your adventures, your resourcefulness, your utter brilliance…you're still not realizing your true potential; you're weighted down by things outside your control: namely, that ragtag crew of miscreants you hang out with. Now, while you may be the most dashing Outlaw I know," she winked. "Your business practices…leave a little to be desired."

I groaned, realizing where this was leading. "…You want in?"

"Well, not entirely. I mean, I doubt that I could make it as a member of the crew myself…but if I could lend my business expertise to your little outfit, just imagine what could be done!"

"If you're such a cunning businesswoman, why don't you just work for your Uncle?"

"He won't let me." Helen pouted. "Kept calling the arms business a 'Man's Work'. Which I don't believe for a damned second, what, with that fruity Fred Low nancing about the business. But that's beside the point now, isn't it?" 

Muttering obscenities beneath my breath, I scowled at Helen. "So…this whole marriage thing isn't a matter of love so much as you just wanting to get into the Outlaw business?" I wasn't sure if I should've felt betrayed or relieved at that time. 

"Oh, it's not _entirely a matter of business." Helen leaned forward, her voice suddenly husky. I didn't like it. "You're quite the catch, you know; young, smart, cute- and you've got that Outlaw appeal for you, but you haven't gotten all the ugly scars and tattoos to go with it."_

Funny, Gene always told me "Chicks Dig Scars." Go figure. 

However, Gene's ill-advised words couldn't be farther from my mind at that particular moment, as I suddenly realized Helen's close proximity as she coiled her arms about me like some variety of surprisingly pleasant constrictor snake. Her scent was intoxicating, the combination of shampoo, perfume, and other such girly scents sparking all sorts of impulses in my brain, most of which I'm not about to tell you about. I froze, allowing Helen to wrap herself about me, slowly easing me down upon my back across the bed.

Wait. 

As a proper Outlaw, I've had to sleep in a great many different places; in gutters, escape pods, hundreds of sleazy hotels, a variety of couches, and even my own humble bunk on the Outlaw star. All these places of bedding had one particular thing in common; they weren't all that comfortable. As a result, the sensation of sinking down into the downy silk bedding was utterly alien to me; alien enough to jar me from the hormone induced trance Helen was lulling me into. 

"Um…Err…ah….Wait!" I pushed 

"What is it?" she continued, reaching up to stroke at my earlobe.

"We- Er- …I should go." I pushed Helen from me as best I could, feeling gauzy fabric slip beneath my shaking hands. 

"Oh hell." Helen sat up, peering irately at me. "…You're not gay, are you?"

"What?" 

"I said, are you gay? I mean, you _do make a lot of business with that Low guy…I should've figured."_

"What? No! I'm not gay!"

"Oh? Good." She closed in again. I scrabbled away in retreat, limbs getting tangled up in the sheets. "Wait!"

Helen sighed. "What now?"

I searched for an excuse. "I- um, that is, y'see, I…" Something, anything to get me out of the situation. "We shouldn't!"

"And why not?"

"Because…because we're not married! …Yet."

Helen tilted her head at me, golden tresses framing her lovely (albeit confused) face.

"Let me get this straight…you, Jim Hawking, outlaw extraordinaire, want to save "that special moment" for when you get married. Which would be within the next twenty four hours."

"I have a thing for tradition."

"Really?"

I nodded. "Yeah!" Too eagerly.

"Oh, fine." Helen sat back, pouting a bit. "We can wait." She reached out and tapped the remote again, causing the bookshelves to slide back over the surveillance screen. "But until then…" Helen closed in for a final time, planting a surprisingly chaste smooch upon my bewildered nose. This done, she giggled, gesturing arily towards the door- which opened as if under its own accord, revealing the well-armed suits who would escort me to my room.

Not without some degree of relief, I got the hell out of the room. Not that it was an unpleasant place to be- far from it. It's just that there was just too much coming at me at once. What, with Helen wanting to marry me, Helen wanting to jump my bones, Helen wanting to take over my outfit…

Wait.

Fact: Helen wanted to marry me.

Fact: Helen wanted to take over Starwind and Hawking enterprises, and marriage was a handy step. 

Fact: Helen was Mr. Kao's only living relative.

Fact: I would somehow be related to Kao if I married Helen.

Fact: Kao would then become my 'Next of Kin'.

The epiphany struck me just as I stepped back into the slanted white room. 

If I married Helen, and if I then in turn, died, Helen- and to some degree, Kao, would have a legal foothold in Starwind and Hawking enterprises. And seeing as of how I was already well on my way to getting married…

All he had to do was kill me.

"Shit."


	7. For Whom the Bell Tolls

            Strangely enough, I was reassured by the knowledge that someone was planning to kill me. Such information was more than enough to snap me out of my emotional, hormone-addled stupor and back into 'business mode'. Assassins and arms dealers I could deal with; romance was another matter entirely. 

            I stepped into the tilted white room once more, glancing around. The lights were off, and I heard snoring from the bedroom. I glanced in to find Aisha curled up contentedly on the large bed, nuzzling the near-empty bottle of whiskey Kao had given me. Seemed that someone started celebrating early. 

            I sighed, then opted to lay out on the room's plush white couch, stared at the ceiling, and began to plan. All the pieces were set in place: Kao had his plan, Helen had hers, and I was but the victim of unlikely circumstance, unarmed, confused, misunderstood, alone, helpless. Mentally, I tallied off the points, then set about thinking ways around them.

 I wasn't entirely unarmed; metaphorically, at least. I never was much of a gunman, instead managing to get by primarily on smarts. That's one thing that Kao never could take away from me. Well, at least not without the assistance of some sort of strange brain-zapping ray, or possibly Tao Magic: variables I didn't count on entering the equation. In addition, there was still the matter of my pocket computer; all I needed was an electrical outlet, and I could wreak all sorts of havoc. 

Confused? Not entirely. Not anymore. I knew Kao had nefarious intentions- and for all I knew, he didn't know that I knew. Always a plus. I could stay clearheaded just so long as I didn't get overly emotional, and just as long as Helen stayed relatively clothed.

Misunderstood? Well, Aisha didn't understand human custom; and I doubted she ever would. But I knew I could count on her to back me up if someone started shooting at me. Providing she was around to do so, of course. 

Alone? See Misunderstood.

And Helpless? Hardly. I knew that there was always something to be done about such a situation. After all, I'd been in worse situations before. It takes a lot to scare a man who's been to the edge of the universe and back. It takes something monolithic, ancient, and mysterious. Something that had already claimed the lives of many a hapless adventurer, dragging them kicking and screaming to their demise.

Something like Marriage.

I shook my head- just dwelling on the more intimidating aspects of the situation would accomplish absolutely nothing. I needed a plan- 

Or maybe just a night's sleep; laying on the semi-comfortable couch, fatigue crept into my body now that I had the opportunity to actually realize it. 

My eyes fluttered closed- once I opened them, the night was gone, replaced by day. A suited and well-armed mook towered above me, eyes impassive behind dark sunglasses. "Time to wake up, Mister Hawking."

"What time is it?"

"I think you already know."

"Shit."

"Good, you do." 

Gene always told me that he never liked wearing suits- that they felt constricting, hot, and itchy. He always told me that a true Outlaw never wore a suit- that an Outlaw's wardrobe had to be balanced on that thin edge between practicality and outrageous style.

As I pulled on the tuxedo provided by Kao, I realized that Gene had been going to the wrong tailor for a great many years. The tuxedo was one of the most comfortable things I had ever worn- even more comfortable than my favorite broken in, grease-stained jumpsuit. 

At least if I was going to die, I'd go out dressed well. 

Given the nature of Kao and Helen's respective checkbooks, I had expected that I would have been married someplace gloriously opulent. Like, in a park, or an ancient cathedral, or someplace else that was proper, clean, high priced, and someplace where guys such as myself didn't belong.

They surprised me.

I stepped from the car, and glanced around, taking in the sight of gaudy neon signs, the smell of cheap liquor, the sounds of discordant music blared from shoddy speakers at near-unbearable decibel levels, and the general feeling that comes when one has set foot in familiar territory. 

            I took another step forward- and into a rancid puddle of something unpleasant and unidentifiable. Cold moisture crept into my shoe, undoubtedly ruining the fine leather and plush sock beneath, saturating my foot within.

            The familiar sensation was almost enough to spur me from the impending sense of dread regarding my impending matrimony.

            Almost.

            "Mr. Kao wanted you to be comfortable when you got married." One of the guards told me. Apparently, making me comfortable entailed taking me to a 24/7 wedding chapel of dubious character within the City's Outlaw district. 

            It was a pleasant idea, and it almost worked, save for the knowledge that someone was going to try to kill me in the immediate future. 

            Out of habit, I surveyed the lobby of the chapel as I stepped inside, looking for enemies, allies, escape routes- the usual. As one could expect, enemies were in abundance, whereas allies were not. Kao's guards covered the doorways into and out of the  It must've been an incredibly formal occasion; the suits didn't carry their machine guns, opting instead for large pistols that bulged conspicuously from under their jackets. The chapel was conspicuously absent of other guests, to be expected, at the least.

            It was as I looked over the lobby that I realized that Aisha was conspicuously absent. She couldn't have been hiding- stealth and subtlety was never one of her stronger points. Before I could look further, a couple stepped forth from the chapel itself, eyes firmly locked on each other. They were almost a textbook couple, she in her bridal white, veils contrasting against her red hair. He looking mildly uncomfortable in his formal wear, red hair slicked back and combed-

            The couple looked up, confirming what I had feared. Again, cruel irony chose to slap me in the face.

            "Jim?"

            "Gene!"

            "Jim?"

            "Melfina!"

            The three of us in our formal wear stood there gaping at each other for a few long moments. I don't think we would have been more disturbed to have run into each other naked; at least then there might have been a rational explanation. 

            I opened my mouth to deliver some semblance of an excuse, but as my luck would have it, that's about when all hell broke loose. 

            One of the suits noticed Gene, recognizing him from the Pinnacle decable, and went for his gun. Several others followed suit. Seeing this, Gene laid into one goon with a lunging punch across the jaw, seizing the pistol from the man's hand.

            Even still, there was little to be done; Kao's men had the tactically superior position, not to mention the superior firepower- it would only be a matter of moments before their amassed gunfire cut us to bits. I ducked as low as I could, hoping to avoid the fusillade of gunfire that would undoubtedly follow.

            It never came.

            Instead, with a squealing of tires and a gout of automatic weapons fire, somebody drove through the wall of the chapel, causing a hellacious crash of splintering wood and crunching metal. Kao's men scattered, no doubt encouraged by the haphazard automatic gunfire strewn across the lobby. 

            Through the dust and gunsmoke, I made out a pair of pointed ears protruding from a head of scruffy white hair. When it came to out and out chaos, one always could count on a C'tarl C'tarl. Muzzle flares from the machine gun illuminated Aisha further. She wore the torn remnants of a hideously pink and ruffled bridesmaid dress, over which she draped a belt of high-caliber ammunition which snaked around into the heavy machine gun clutched in her hands. I wondered where she could have possibly gotten her hands on such a large weapon. My gaze traveled downward, and I regretted it.

            For Aisha stood triumphantly on the hood of my battered and bullet-ridden Ehehfrau; I'd have to spend months undoing all the damage she just put the poor car through. Not to mention the cost…

            Aisha continued her destructive rampage, stitching a trail of bullet holes across the now-perforated chapel, a savage grin across her face. No doubt she would have continued to pound away with her machine gun, were it not for the timely jamming of the weapon, complete with resonant *CLICK!* 

            Like some sort of well armed, well-dressed puppets, Kao's men popped up from the debris of a thoroughly ruined wedding and trained all sorts of interesting weaponry at me and my crew. Gene and Melfina pointed pistols back in a show of futile defiance, Aisha swore at her gun, and I did my best to prepare myself for a painful, bullet-riddled end.

            Over the lobby's stillness, a single, petulant, shrill voice cried out. "What the _HELL is going on here?"_

            Like the first time I met her, Helen wore white. She stormed forward in her undoubtedly expensive wedding dress, hiking the voluminous skirts up to cross larger chunks of debris littering her path. She completely ignored the various weapons everyone pointed on each other, confident in the fact that nobody would dare shoot her. Even with her determined stride, the debris slowed her down, enough for me to exchange a few tense words with my redheaded friend.

            "Jim, what the hell is going on-"

            "Shut up, Gene."

            "Say, isn't that the one girl-"

            "Shut _up, Gene."_

            "And what are you doing so dressed-"

            "Shut up, Gene!"

            There was no more time to argue, as I was snapped from my argument by a hearty slap across the face. Blinking, I looked over to Helen, who glowered at me with tears in her eyes.

            "How could you, Jim? I was looking forward to this- but then your friends had to go and _ruin it! Are you Outlaws so uncivilized as to participate in anything without shooting it up?"_

            "But, I-"

            "Don't try to make excuses now! You had your chance to rise above all this, to become something more than a dumb kid with a gun and a spaceship, but you ruined it." She sucked in a breath, composing herself. "I can't forgive you for this, Jim Hawking."

            "But…but…your uncle was going to kill me!"

            Helen blinked her blue-gray eyes in disbelief. "…What?"

            "He was going to kill me to try to take over Starwind and Hawking right after we got married!"

            "How do you know that?"

            "Err…I had a hunch."

            "Seems like a pretty stupid hunch to me. I mean, if he really wanted to take over your pathetic little outlet, I'm sure that he could have figured out some far superior way to go about it." She sighed, dabbing at her eyes with the back of one white sleeve. "I thought I loved you, Jim. And I thought you loved me. But if you were so afraid of commitment as to have your friends wait in ambush over it, you could have told me!" she shook her head. "You've blown it, Jim. I don't think that I can forgive you for this." With that said, she spun about on one heel and picked her way across the debris once again, leaving a bewildered lot of well-dressed gunmen (and, in Melfina and Aisha's cases, women) in her wake. A few moments passed, after which Kao's men turned about and filed out, as if all this chaos had never happened. I caught a glimpse of Helen sobbing into Mr. Kao's arms, but then the two eased themselves into a limousine, and left. 

            As soon as Helen and Kao were off, I didn't even bother with the standard waiting period one took to comprehend just what the hell happened. I just turned around and left, going in the exact opposite direction that Kao's convoy had driven.

            It began to rain.__


	8. Race to the Bottom of the Glass!

There is a problem with the high life.

No matter how briefly one lives in that wonderful world of opulent splendor, there's still a taint that comes with it that is, sadly, very, very hard to break. The life of the privileged spoils a man. Makes him entirely unused to the harsher, less posh aspects of life. I counted myself lucky; I had little opportunity to get used to the luxurious opulence that no doubt waited for me in the arms of one gorgeous blonde by the name of Helen.

I did, however, have ample opportunity to get used to the fine liquor of the high life.

Nothing made the quality of the booze provided by Mr. Kao more apparent than the quality of booze that I could actually _afford_. Still in my now-battered tuxedo, I sat in a darkened corner of a nameless, shifty bar, without any company but the bottle before me.

To tell the truth, I wasn't sure if the swill I was pouring down my throat _had_ a proper name; terms such as "rotgut" came to mind. The liquid within the bottle before me looked suspiciously like engine coolant, and smelled even worse.

I didn't care. The taste of the stuff (foul, no doubt) barely registered as I poured it down, cringing as it burned its way down my throat. Way I figured, quality didn't matter so much as quantity. It was just a matter drinking the right amount of mind-numbing liquid down. Eventually, I'd get to such a state that I could handily forget that I had just fouled up what might've been my one opportunity for financial security- not to mention the opportunity to get under the skirts of a particularly gorgeous blonde.

I would've gotten myself properly bombed were it not for the intervention of a particular C'tarl C'tarl.

She slipped into the booth across from me with her typical feline grace. As if to match my own out of place attire, she still wore the remnants of her bridesmaid's dress, while the scent of gunpowder served as her perfume.

"Big bottle for a little kid." Aisha said, examining the label of whatever hooch I had procured on that night. "This kind of stuff'll kill ya."

"If I could be so lucky."

"No, really." Aisha continued to regard my bottle- keeping it out of my reach. "I remember one time, back when I was in the academy, I drank some of this stuff. Granted, due to my own superior physiology, it took a whole CASE of this to get me drunk- but it worked, anyway. Man, was I drunk. Really, really gone, you know? So drunk, that when I woke up, the first thing that came to mind was…"What the hell am I doing in the Antaris Sector? Thanks to my superior C'tarl C'tarl thinking, I didn't panic, like one of you puny humans would've- I just came to realize that I didn't speak Antarian, I didn't have a passport…and heck, I didn't even have any pants!"

I blinked, trying to banish thoughts of a pants-less Aisha from my mind. "Hell of a situation."

"Yeah. But it really didn't matter, in the end."

"Why's that?"

"Well, after a few minutes, I realized I fell asleep on a star-map." Aisha shot me a grin, the kind of expectant look one gives after delivering a proper punchline.

I didn't laugh.

Aisha noticed. Her ears drooped ever so slightly. "You wouldn't believe how long I've been looking for you, Jim."

"Probably not. I lost track of the time about four shots ago."

"That far gone, huh?" she shook her head. "Let me know when you're starting to feel like fighting somebody, so I can drag your ass home." This said, Aisha grabbed the bottle of rotgut and took a swig- only to wince, gag, and sputter (in that order) before she slammed the bottle back down on the table. "Wow. Things must be _really_ bad if you're drinking this swill."

Bleary eyed, I looked across the booth at Aisha. All I could do was slam down another glass of the unnamed liquor…and laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"You."

"What?" She lost all pretense of sympathy, and glowered.

"All your talk about the racial superiority of the C'tarl C'tarl…and you're not tough enough to drink…whatever the hell this is."

"What? Lies! Lies! Besides, being able to stomach- and ENJOY that vile liquid is _hardly_ something to be proud of!"

"Hey, us hairless monkeys have got to find something."

"If you say so." Aisha drummed her fingers on the tabletop, glancing around with a restless air to her. "Done yet?"

"Hm?"

"Done lamenting over whatever it is that's got you torn up? I was going to drink with you, but if that's any indication…"

"Well, I-"

True to form, Aisha wouldn't let me continue. "I don't know why you're so torn up about all this anyway. I mean, not more than twenty four hours ago, you were trying to think of ways to weasel your way out of it all. So you pissed off some rich blonde girl. So what? I doubt it would've worked out anyway."

"…Weren't you the one telling me to go through with it?"

"Well, yes. But I've always reserved the right to change my mind along with the situation. Remember, I'm also the one who crashed the wedding with a belt-fed machine gun."

"Yeah. You did. So really, you're the one to blame."

"What? Oh, don't go pinning this on me. If it were up to you, I'm sure you would've screwed it up big time all by yourself." She crossed her arms and nodded, content in her own infallibility.

"Your confidence is inspiring, Aisha."

"No, really. That girl didn't suit you. She's a rich heiress, you're a not-so-rich Outlaw…you knew it yourself from the beginning. You just had to convince yourself of some insane plot to kill you, so you could accept it on terms that you're used to." Aisha shook her head again. "Humans are weird."

"Maybe it's the liquor, but you're actually beginning to make sense."

Aisha leaned in across the table once again, affixing me with an investigative look. "…I think you've had enough to drink." She concluded.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Let's get back to the ship. Are you good to walk?"

"Um. Maybe."

"Here, you can lean on me."

I did.


End file.
